


Bad Habits

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Feedism, Food Kink, Inflation, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feuilly's picked up some bad habits over the past couple of weeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Habits

**Author's Note:**

> Today I decided that I wanted to write Les Mis Kink fic. And so I did.

Feuilly had to admit that he was developing some ghastly habits.  Exam time never was a particularly healthy time for him but this semester he seemed to be taking it to an unnecessary extreme.  All night study sessions were now fueled by Mountain Dew, Easy Mac, and Sbarro pizza since that eatery seemed to be the only eatery near his apartment open past nine.  He would be highlighting important points in his textbooks with one hand and feeding a slice of sauce-and-grease-covered cardboard into his mouth with the other.  As for the Mountain Dew, he didn’t even like the taste of it but the caffeine kept him going through the night.  The cause for his drive was mostly to keep his scholarship in place.  He had three jobs and initially had opted out of college.  However, now he was attempting schooling at the local community college and wanted to excel.

Finally, the light at the end of the tunnel came and he was done, his scholarship hopefully secured for the next semester by his marks.  Feuilly woke up feeling oddly energetic and swung his legs out of the bed.  He could shower regularly and wear real clothes rather than the oversized, sagging pajamas he had been living in for the past two weeks.  The first part of that--the glorious shower--he had experienced last night.  It was a good feeling, not having enough grease in his hair to create an alternative source of fuel.

Feeling mighty fine, Feuilly scooped his favorite pair of jeans up from the floor of his room and pulled them up.  He moved his hands to button them and felt resistance.

“Huh?”

He glanced down and instead of seeing his usual leanly muscled abdomen, he saw a paunch that puffed out over the waistband of his jeans.  Tentatively, he lifted a hand from clutching one side of the button of his jeans and poked it.  By God, it was _soft_.  Gingerly, he lifted his other hand and jiggled his belly in his hands, unsure that it was really attached to him.  When did it get here?

In his head, there was a small pop like at the beginning of a silent film and his eating habits from the past fortnight ran through his head complete with a Benny Hill music score.  The images of him jamming greasy pizza and microwaved mac’n’cheese into his mouth and washing it down with gulps of soda sped up (and so did the imaginary music) and it left him...with a little pronounced gut.

Feuilly attempted to suck it in to get his pants closed but it didn’t have much of an effect.  He pulled at the fly again, attempting to get it closed.  Finally, he realized if he buttoned his pants under his stomach, he could get them closed.  Even so, the waistband was tight against him and it made his belly look even bigger.  Feeling slightly less fine, he grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it over his head.  This too was tight at his abdomen, outlining his growth.  The hem rode up a little higher than usual but thankfully not enough to expose his stomach.  Part of him couldn’t help but think that if this was what school did to him, he was probably better off just working.

Feeling downright miserable now, Feuilly jammed his feet into a pair of sneakers and plodded downstairs to where the kitchen was.  His stomach was growling pitifully but he had no intent to consume anything more than a glass of orange juice and maybe a slice of toast.

Down in the kitchen, there was only Bahorel leaning over the sink and running the tap into his cup of instant coffee crystals.  Feuilly wrinkled his nose.  He had no idea how Bahorel could take his coffee like that.  Even the burnt deli coffee he found himself drinking on more than one occasion tasted better than Bahorel’s preferred coffee.

“Heh,” he said, noticing Feuilly’s entrance into the kitchen. “It seems you’ve finally crawled out from your cocoon.”

“Ha,” he said dryly, unable to think of a better comeback to the man who was sometimes occasionally his boyfriend.

Feuilly’s gaze fell on a box of unbaked rolls sitting on the counter.  The top was off and the smell of the dough hit his nostrils.  His stomach whined.

“Whose are those?” he asked.

His resolve was starting to fade or maybe he was so hungry that uncooked dough was appealing.  Bahorel turned off the tap and turned.  One hand reached behind him to grab a plastic spoon to stir his disgusting concoction.

“Jehan’s,” he replied, “but he said he got the wrong kind so they’re up for grabs if you wanna pop them in the oven or something.”

Feuilly bit his lip.  He didn’t want to put them in the oven.  He wanted to eat them, the whole box.  That he couldn’t even blame on his terrible eating habits of the past two weeks.  That he could only blame on his hunger.

“No,” he said slowly, “I’m good.”

Squaring his shoulders, he turned instead to the fridge in hopes of finding orange juice.  To his dismay, there was only the kind with heavy pulp--the kind Grantaire favored since he apparently preferred to chew his juice.

“Huh.”

Feuilly felt eyes on him and turned his head to see that Bahorel was staring at him or, more importantly, staring at his stomach.

“Huh, what?” he asked, maybe a little defensively.

He realized that in leaning forward to look into the fridge--and studiously ignore the rolls--he had allowed his shirt to ride up and reveal the underside of his stomach.

“It’s just...you’ve plumped up a little, haven’t you?”

Feuilly leapt back and slammed the fridge, feeling a blush heat up his face.  Angrily, he pulled the hem of his shirt down over the swell of his stomach.

“I have not!”

Bahorel laughed and poked him in the belly.

“Then what’s that?”

“It’s nothing.”

He gave a gap-toothed grin.

“S’not nothing.  Lemme feel.”

He flattened his hand against Feuilly’s stomach and, to his surprise, it felt...kind of good.

They weren’t dating currently but habit made him turn and lean up against Bahorel’s chest.  He heard the slight, muted thump of a cup being placed on the counter and soon felt the welcome touch of Bahorel’s other hand fondling his belly.

“Stop,” he tried but his voice was low and husky and not very authoritative.

“How did this even happen?” Bahorel asked. “You used to be so skinny.”

Feuilly sighed. “I...didn’t eat very well while I was studying for finals.”

One of Bahorel’s hands squeezed some of his little potbelly and he felt a surprising rush of heat go through his groin.

“Really?  Because it looks to me that you were eating _very well_.”

Feuilly wiggled in his grasp though even he wasn’t sure if he was wiggling out of it or deeper into it.

“Well don’t get used to it.  I’m going on a diet and this tummy is going away.”

Apparently intent on falsifying his claim, his stomach made a loud and almost angry-sounding growl.  Feuilly sighed.  Of course.  His body had had junk fed into it on a near constant basis for two weeks.  That he hadn’t eaten since he awoke was probably bothering the new appetite he had cultivated with his bizarre eating schedule.

“Oh?”

Bahorel rolled his flesh under his palms and Feuilly heard himself make a loud, pitiful whimper.

“Are you hungry?” he whispered the words close to his ear, his breath hot.

He tried to say no but instead he nodded, closing his eyes and tilting his head back.

“Good...I always wanted you to be a bit plumper, you know,” he murmured. “Wasn’t gonna force you or anything but I thought it’d look good on you.  Round little belly riding up over your jeans.  Straining the buttons of those awful flannel shirts you usually wear.”

Feuilly barely heard him.  His own blood was rushing around in his head and he had no idea if it was just the touching that was turning him on or the words Bahorel was saying that were registering.

He felt something soft against his lips and, on instinct, he opened his mouth.  It was one of the unbaked rolls.  Feuilly opened his mouth wider to let the ball of dough in and chewed laboriously before swallowing.  All thoughts of a diet left his head as Bahorel pushed another one towards his mouth.  Already he felt his jeans tighten.

“How...?” He opened his eyes a little and glanced down.  Sure enough, his belly looked bigger.

“The dough’s expanding,” Bahorel explained. “Here.  Have another?”

Again, his first thought was to protest but he was so hungry.  Dough wouldn’t really fill him up but it was helping a little.  He took the third roll into his mouth and groaned as it went down.  He arched his back a little against Bahorel and paused.  He felt something poking into the small of his back.

“Are you hard?” he asked, suddenly straightening.

“Yeah.  So?  I told you already this is a turn-on for me.  You saying that it isn’t for you?”

“No, I--uh...well...” He paused and bit his lip.  There was no question that he was enjoying this treatment and each slight rub or pinch from Bahorel’s hands sent a surge of warmth right to his cock. “Maybe a little.”

He couldn’t see him but he knew that Bahorel was grinning behind him.

“Hmm...good.  Hey, how’s this?”

He turned Feuilly around so he was facing him.  Gently, he pulled him close enough so his belly pressed up against him.  Feuilly looked down, surprised at how much it had expanded already.  What surprised him more was that what had embarrassed him earlier that morning was now making him feel...rather good because of the attention it brought from Bahorel.  He had always thought that their last break-up needn’t have happened but exams came and he hadn’t time to think of a way of getting back together.

“How’s what?” he asked.

“You go up to your room and I’ll be up in a few with some supplies to take care of this.” Bahorel pulled him closer, squishing his belly a little.  Feuilly let out a little whimper despite himself.

He drew in a shaky breath and said, “Okay.”

Feuilly turned and made his way back upstairs to his room.  He had left it unlocked when he had left it in a gloomy fit earlier for which he was glad since, while in that same fit, he had forgotten his keys.  He entered and sat down on his bed.  As he absently kicked his shoes off, he pressed his fingers against his belly.  It was straining in the confines of his jeans but he didn’t move to unbutton them.  Without thinking, really, he pulled his t-shirt off and scrounged one of the short-sleeved, plaid flannel shirts he always wore that Bahorel always made fun of.  He snapped the buttons into place, straining a little to get them over the his belly.  When he looked down, he could see a little bit of skin poking through at where it was most swollen.

The door opened and Bahorel came in, arms laden with various snacks he had scrounged from the kitchen all stuffed into the tote bags Jehan usually took with him when he went grocery shopping.  Balanced on the crook of his arm and not in the bags was the box of unbaked rolls.  Feuilly noticed that more than three were missing from the box of about a dozen.  Bahorel put the bags on the floor and tore off a roll to pop into his mouth.

“Hey!” he called in mock anger. “I thought those were for me!”

He grinned and placed the box amongst the bags.

“Oh, don’t worry.  You’ll be getting plenty.  Won’t matter if I have one or two.”

Feuilly rolled his eyes and pretended to look huffy.  Part of him still didn’t know why he was going along with this but that was the smallest part.  Most of him was kind of eager and a little turned-on.

“I see you’ve changed shirts.”

“I figured this would be a little more appropriate?  Buttons to, you know, pop and whatnot.”

Bahorel smirked. “Right.”

Feuilly slid off the bed and onto his floor.  He heard his jeans creak ominously from where they were fastened under his belly.

“Open wide,” Bahorel said, lifting up another piece of dough.

He did as he was instructed and worked through the majority of the box.  He could feel his stomach tightening and swelling with each bite.  His shirt rode up and the buttons strained further, revealing more patches of skin.

“Mmmph,” he said as he swallowed the last one. “Can I get something to drink?”

“Of course.”

Bahorel turned and reached into one of the bags.  Feuilly rubbed his swollen stomach, marveling at how large it had gotten in such a short time.  That dough really did expand...wait.  Something in his head clicked.  Moments earlier, Bahorel entering his room...

“Those rolls expand, right?”

Bahorel turned, arm still in the bag.

“Yeah, I think we’ve established that.”

“You ate a couple...”

In unison, both men looked down to see that Bahorel now sported his own little belly.  It pushed out from under his muscle tee, exposing a slice of olive-toned skin.

“Oh...” He put a hand not in the bag over the small swell.  It had nothing on Feuilly’s swollen midriff but it was pronounced in its own right.

Feuilly reached forward, suddenly surged with the desire to touch it.  The movement caused the snaps that held his shirt closed to finally give in.  All but the topmost two buttons popped, revealing his belly.  Bahorel stared at it, forgetting his own tummy for the moment.

“Wow.”

A blush crept up the back of Feuilly’s neck and he desperately tried to get the shirt closed again.  Bahorel had seen him naked countless times but this somehow felt more intimate.

“Leave it,” he instructed.

Finally, he removed his hand from the bag and produced a bottle of Cheerwine.

“Don’t tell Courf I snatched this,” he said and tossed Feuilly the bottle. “Drink up.”

He did, happily gulping down the soda he usually wrote off as being too sweet.  The dough had made his mouth and throat dry so it was a welcome change.  As he drank, Bahorel kissed his belly, fingers pinching at the bloated skin.  When his tongue slipped into his navel, Feuilly nearly choked.

“Christ, it’s like we don’t even need this other food,” Bahorel remarked, mouth flush against his belly. “You’ve already gotten so big.”

Feuilly finished the last of the soda and put the bottle to the side.  Gently, he put his hands on either side of his belly as he watched Bahorel flick open the button of his jeans.  He exhaled in relief and noticed that, now without his jeans holding him in, he could take in how large he had really gotten.

“Yeah...I have.”

“But it’d be such a pity to let all this food I brought up here go to waste...” Bahorel gestured to the tote tags filled to the brim with snacks.

Feuilly gently squeezed his expanded sides and bit the inside of his cheek.

“Well...we can’t have that,” he said resolutely. “But you...have to help me.”

“Me?  I thought I was the feeder in this little shindig.”

He reached out and poked his little bulge.

“Nope.  You’re helping me.”

It took them over an hour to work through the snacks.  When the last of the chip bags were emptied and the packets of snack cakes were lying empty and forlorn scattered across the carpet, Feuilly found himself lying completely supine on the floor to accommodate his stuffed gut.  His stomach rose up in front of him like a great, overfed mound.  Pitifully, he reached out to pat it.  There was a layer of the pudge that had been packed on his waist that morning but the rest of his belly was rock hard.  He had never been quite so full.

Next to him, Bahorel was similarly splayed out but didn’t look half as stuffed.  His jeans were undone and his belly was a sizeable gut that squeezed out from under his tight muscle tee.  He kept patting it proudly, apparently not as discomforted as Feuilly was.

“Ugh,” he mumbled. “I was planning on going on a diet...”

Bahorel snorted a laugh and said, “Well that went out the window, didn’t it?”

He scowled.

“Thanks to you!”

“You’re welcome!”

 


End file.
